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You would think that when your father is a member of The Monarchy, he would be easier to reach. Like, there would be a dedicated option to reach out, a family line of sorts, but if anything, it’s the complete opposite.
Trudging toward the main office, my damp boots leave noticeable marks on the otherwise pristine marble floors. It might be the weekend for us, but I know for certain that there will be some form of academic or administrative staff on site somewhere. Because I need to reach someone off-property, the main office is the best place to start.
Since the sun is barely up, there are no students in sight as I push through the door, determined to find Lyra, the head of administration. Surprisingly, she's already at her desk in her usual white pantsuit with her hair twisted into a professional bun.
I don’t slow my stride as I cut the distance between us, collapsing into the chair positioned across from her on the other side of her desk. But the second my ass hits the seat, I’m scooting it closer so I can brace my arms on the divider between us.
“I need to speak with my father.”
She doesn’t bristle at my tone or even shift her full attention my way, playing out some power game I’m sure she enjoys. Her lips twist and her eyebrow lifts as she finally turns my way.
“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Denver?”
“The problem is me having to repeat myself,” I grumble, tapping my fingertips on the desk as I keep my gaze locked on hers. “Do I have to be a total douche and threaten to mention this to my father when I speak with him?” It’s my turn to cock a brow at her while she gulps nervously.
“Am I correct in believing you’re housemates with Miss Raven Hendrix?” I nod, confused about where she’s going with this. “Before meeting that young woman, I would have faltered under that threat, given in, and bent over backward like a quivering idiot.” Dear fucking God, what did Raven do?
“And now?” I ask, eager to know what mischief she’s been causing without me knowing.
Lyra leans forward, bracing her forearms on the desk as she levels her gaze with mine. “Now, I’m going to continue to give you hell because I’m cranky and in no mood for your pretentious bullshit so early in the weekend. So, if you think I’m going to help you with that attitude, you can think again.”
I blink at the Lyra before me. She’s not the same at all, it seems, and that just may be down to the woman who has flipped my life upside down. Lacing my fingers together, I lean back in my seat and grin. “She has a way of getting under your skin, doesn’t she?” Lyra clears her throat, her eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, so I clarify. “Raven, I mean. She comes across all harsh and rough around the edges, but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else with that level of raw spark and energy. Have you?”
Her eyes soften, understanding twitching the corner of her mouth up, but she manages to bite back the smile before it transforms her face. “Something like that,” she breathes before rolling her eyes and sighing heavily. “Fine, I’ll set up a connection with Monarch Denver. It might take a few minutes at this time of day, so you’ll have to bear with me. Would you rather have some privacy?” I nod, but she’s already pointing to the door as if she knew that would be my answer. “Take the first left, I’ll have it connect there for you.”
“Thank you, Lyra.”
She sits taller, the smirk on her face undeniable as she waves me off while avoiding my gaze. That’s pride dancing across her body, pride in herself, and I can’t help but get the feeling that Raven has something to do with that.
I don’t have the time to delve into that, though. Now, I need to speak to my father.
Following her instruction, I exit her office and take a left to find one of the small windowless rooms that I’m familiar with. This is how they connect us with the outside world. It’s not the first time I’ve seen my father under this kind of circumstance, so I flop down on the sofa and kick my feet up on the coffee table in front of me. There’s a water dispenser in the far corner, but otherwise, there’s just a notepad and pen on the table, and that’s it. Simple, yet functional.
Silence dances around me for a few more minutes until a gentle buzz zaps in the air, and a moment later, my father appears as a projection in front of me. He’s on the family sofa at home, a linen shirt and chino shorts in place of his usual suit.
“Interrupting a casual day, Pops?” I ask, and he grins, swiping his hand over his hair as he relaxes in his seat.
This is the thing Lyra doesn’t realize about my father. She said it might be hard at this time, but I know he’s already been awake for at least two hours, putting in the weekend work while everybody sleeps so that when they do wake up, he’s present and having fun.
“Your mother is insisting we have friends over. You know how she is. Is everything okay?”
Nervously rubbing the back of my neck, I instantly feel out of my depth and it takes me a few moments to piece together where I want to lead the conversation.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I used the shell you gave me to tap into your Monarchy office, but there was no response. That’s why I’m reaching out like this now.” Apparently, it’s standard practice for Monarchy family members to have a shell. The most random-looking object ever, but it’s a direct link to a system set up in The Monarchy to make them aware we need them. It just doesn’t seem to want to work when I need it.
“Sorry, son. There’s a lot of commotion at the minute.” His brows dip ever so slightly, a move I don’t see too often on him, and it immediately ignites my concern.
“Care to share?”
“Not really,” he says with a shake of his head, and I sigh, frustrated while not actually expecting anything more from him. He loves us fiercely, he’s a family man through and through, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love his job, his people, and this realm. That doesn’t help me right now, though, when I need more information that I know he’s been holding out on sharing.
“Just like you didn’t want to share about the Nightmares Guild?”
He sits up straight, tension vibrating from him as his eyes narrow. “How do you know about that?” I raise a brow at him. There’s absolutely no point in me answering that question when he already knows deep down. “Dammit. It was Burton, wasn’t it? What did you do that made him offer it up?”
I gape at him. “Who saysIdid anything?” I challenge, but he rolls his eyes at me this time, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a few deep breaths before settling his gaze on mine again.
“That’s how it works with him. That’s how it has always worked.”
